


These fairytales we reap

by withered



Series: Roses (by another name) [5]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Brief description, Dragons are mentioned, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Inspired by Game of Thrones, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lemon, Lime, Queens, crowns, hollows - Freeform, kings - Freeform, queen of the north
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Rukia grimaced before resolutely she reminded, "I'm here for business with you, King.""'Your' king?" he attempted to correct, and if he hoped that she would fall for it twice, she retorted, "I didn't vote for you."





	These fairytales we reap

**Author's Note:**

> Written during my wait for Season 7 of GOT, still kind of applies because now I have anxiety over Season 8; the cycle is endless.
> 
> This story is also available on ffn as the second entry in Roses. 
> 
> "I didn't vote for you" is unabashedly taken from Monty Python.

 

 **Summary:** "What's a queen without a king?" / "Stastically? Better."

 **Prompt:** Fandom crossover/Kings and Queens

 **Warnings:** Lemony/Lime content

.

Her crown was heavy.

It didn't have the usual ornamental feel that her crown as a princess carried. There would be no dainty snowflakes peppering her dark hair, suspended by transparent threads of frozen strings woven together –delicate and spider-like – around her head in a fragile halo.

Beautiful as it had been, it was an unassuming crown, suitable for a princess that was meant to be seen and not heard – for a royal that sat close to the gilded chair but never meant to sit on it – enough to be acknowledged and respected for a parentage she didn't choose but never given the power that came with it.

Like any title, it came with obligations and limitations; things drilled into princesses of birth and princesses of marriage: how to send a message with just a smile and a wave of a fan, how to impress others with your knowledge and skill of this subject or that activity without the ego, how to interact with others without giving away too much and yet making them think that you were.

Unspoken was the understanding what the hierarchy was, to know your place in it and how to manipulate others from it.

Being a princess was an education, an art form, a lifestyle.

Look the part, be the part - heavy is the head that wears the crown - fragile is the neck that holds it steady.

There was no coming undone for Queen Rukia of House Kuchiki.

_The sound of her dress tearing felt like release even as the warmth of him invaded every cell of her body, his mouth touching hers – again – again –again –_

_His tongue traced the seam of her lips as he branded his hands against her hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass as he pulled her to him; the sweet sting set fire to every nerve ending even as she felt herself drowning in him._

_Rukia whimpered as she tugged at the strands of his hair in retribution, dragging her nails through it before sliding down the firm column of his neck, instinctively finding that sweet spot at the atlas of his spine that made him pull his mouth from hers to groan. His lips, however, quickly found purchase where her neck met her shoulder, teeth scraping against her heated skin. Her answering moan was forgotten in the gasp as his hands touched her bare skin, lifting her up, her legs impulsively wrapped themselves around his waist; his one hand cupped the back of her neck sweetly while the other coaxed the growing liquid heat between her legs._

_When he finally set her down on the bed, he tugged the remainder of her dress off, the garment pooling around her thighs haphazardly as the rip in the material did nothing to hide her exposed thigh; he pressed his mouth to hers once more, his tongue a caress against her own – slower – gentler –_

_She tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, her hands cupping his neck before moving teasingly down his still clothed chest until she reached the bulge that filled her hand, and would likely fill other places soon enough._

_His breath was harsh against her skin, "Fuck –"_

Rukia knew how to be a princess, and being Queen, she would know how to do as well.

She glided through the floor as if she was skating on ice, and for a moment, she wished she were.

Ice was familiar to her in her home in the North where it snowed every day. Even in the Long Spring Rukia could tread on the thinnest frozen river before she could even walk at all. She supposed this situation wasn't very different.

She was here purely by the request of the new King of the Seven Kingdoms, to bend the knee and declare loyalty.

Otherwise, she would be where she had always been – her home her kingdom in the unforgiving tundra, famed for its isolation and its impenetrability. It was the only kingdom of the Seven that hadn't fallen to the new King's rule, and she knew when her presence was announced at her entry that the other "leaders" envied her for it.

Despite their titles of "Kings" and "Queens", their crowns were as ornamental as the one she had as a child, as a measly princess.

But what were they to do against a king with three dragons?

The war that was fought to get the current King on the Iron Throne had taken almost two years to reach its conclusion, two years of crushing empires.

Though, according to the intelligence reports, it had been building for nearly five. Byakuya had been careful to stay away from it, whoever ruled the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't - couldn't rule the North.

But she knew, better than her brother did, that the Great War was still to come, and theirs couldn't be fought alone, not with the Hollows getting restless across the Wall –

"Your grace," she was interrupted from her thoughts, a placid smile tugging at her lips out of habit.

"Yes?"

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He bowed his bright hair – so utterly Southern that it reminded Rukia of a setting sun in a world – that she had momentarily forgotten what he had looked like when he first greeted her. At his rise, Rukia caught sight of the pin at the breast of his robes, the Hand of the King.

She nodded in answer, half distracted, the crown heavier still with the movement.

Usually, she would curtsey but she was higher than him. Higher, even with the height difference.

"I've heard many things about you," she followed. Kisuke Urahara, the king's advisor, recognizable by his pin and an absurd wicker basket for a hat which he had wisely chosen not to wear on this occasion, had made an unfortunate trip to the North during Byakuya's reign as King of the North – likely to try and storm her home in an attempt to usurp her brother's position.

Fortunately, winter had always been on their side.

Her smile was touched with the frost of his faux pas as she continued, "I don't know whether I should do you the disservice of lying to you or not."

"Well, you are your brother's sister," he observed, his smile amused, almost friendly as he tipped his head. "He probably wouldn't have said as much, though."

"No, he wouldn't have," Rukia replied flatly, and the sound of her immediately guarded tone, she cursed as his brow furrowed slightly in notice. She asked, swallowing her irritation with the expressionless chill she could feel settling over her features, "Are you here to tell me that his Highness won't be in attendance?"

His lips quirked, but he didn't speak, and so she pushed on, brow raised; unimpressed. "He wanted me here, the least he could do was give me the common courtesy to show up."

"He would like you to be comfortable first if it's all the same to you."

"It isn't."

"I couldn't entice you, even for a dance?" he offered, hand offered in expectation.

And if she were just a princess, she would have been expected to accept because this could be her husband-to-be, this could be the Prince Charming the septa had always told her of, this was the moment all princesses waited for –

_He had her bared and naked, skin shiny with sweat beneath the moonlight streaming in through the window, nipples pebbled despite the humidity raising a flush down her neck and chest. His eyes were too intense, too…amazed; the picture was not helped at all by the rush of air he was pushing out of his lungs, hair in disarray, crown forgotten; expression wild._

_His mouth parted, though no words came out, and the longer he kneeled over her, simply looking at her – silently cataloging every stray freckle, every phantom scar –_

_She exhaled, embarrassingly winded, "What?"_

_He shook his head, practically reading the cause of her discomfort and dismissing it with an almost breathless smile. His large hands massaging her calves almost carelessly as he replied, "Just admiring."_

_When she only took another breath to mimic his earlier ones, he lowered himself, kissing her knee and moving slowly up her thigh. "You're going to have to get used to it."_

_Rukia had no reply to this, only watched him as she settled against her elbows to watch him, flush growing as she realized his intended destination. "Ichi -"_

" _Tell me to stop," he murmured, his lip moving against hers just enough that she felt her thighs tremble before he withdrew, his eyes intent on hers – waiting for permission – acceptance – refusal –_

"No."

The morning after, in an empty room overlooking the Narrow Sea she had only ever seen in the books of the Maesters, Rukia's queensguard stood at the door, ready to protect her, to lay their lives down for her as she moved through the steps of the water dance she had learned so many years ago.

The wooden sword she used to practice with replaced by the real thing. This strange, unfamiliar place made her antsy, and Shirayuki was the only sure thing she knew. She didn't need her queensguard to protect her, and it had served her well not to rely on anyone to do it either.

Rukia recalled that her mother hadn't wanted her to have the training – it was dangerous, it was asking for trouble; why not just learn how to dance?  _"_ You're making it harder and harder for us to marry you off, young lady!" But her father, ever indulgent, had gotten the best water dancer he could find with his connections in Kings' Landing, the capital to which she found herself in currently – and told her, "If it finally makes you smile, my dear, I cannot deny you". Byakuya had only looked on impassively while their cousin, Toshiro had snorted.

It brought on uncomfortable recollections of the last time she had used it or had been using it, before she found herself with a heavier crown and a title that wasn't "princess".

"So you do dance."

She hadn't even heard him come in, hadn't thought to wonder why before she had her sword tip at his throat, stance prepared for confrontation – for battle.

He didn't look much changed from the night before while she had traded her dress for a sparring tunic; a loose shift dress chosen entirely for mobility and the unexpected heat of the South, not for its appropriateness in company. Warily, she eyed him as she replied, "I didn't say I couldn't."

"Still doesn't explain why you said no," he said, petulant.

"I didn't want to dance."

"With me?"

"With anyone." She eased her stance just enough, though the sword was still at his throat, eyes flickering to his chest where the pin was absent. She should have known.

Rukia grimaced before resolutely she reminded, "I'm here for business with you, King."

"'Your' king?" he attempted to correct, and if he hoped that she would fall for it twice, she retorted, "I didn't vote for you."

His lips quirked as they did last night before he asked, "You Northerners truly are isolated, aren't you?"

"With good reason," she defended.

"Then why come down here, hmm?"

"You have dragons." There was a moment of understanding dawning on his expression. He had been used to the first phrase, of course. The general fear the population had towards his three dragons.

They destroyed entire armadas while his armies dispatched the rest; they had burned cities to the ground in one breath and pillaged others with the might of his men. His army was hundreds of thousands strong, and the King, himself, was a gifted warrior, strategist, and leader, but it was his dragons that people feared. Fear was always a good motivator.

Until plainly, she declared, "I need them."

"You…need them?"

She loosened her stance, stepping away from him in such a way that it was basically a dismissal. "How much do you know of the Hollows?" she asked, by way of explanation.

"The fairytale?"

"Like the dragons?" she asked in return, and the understanding in his face came full circle.

"What do you want for them?" And Rukia, despite herself, felt relief at that. Skepticism was expected, Rukia, herself, wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for the attack on her kingdom – by her own brother.

Byakuya had come back from his mission across the Wall, ill with something the Maester couldn't identify. He died in the night with Rukia at his bedside, but the state was not permanent as Byakuya woke, reanimated as one of them – a Hollow.

What remained of her family and the royal circle of the North; her cousin and her advisors knew the truth. But for the sake of her brother's dignity and legacy, she let the story spread:  _"_ She killed her brother to be Queen of the North."

Rukia licked her lips.

But having King Ichigo accept their existence didn’t change the fact that she had nothing to offer him in return.

"What will you take?"

"How about you?"

_Kurosaki Ichigo, of the Land of the Living, or so they called the land he hailed from across the Narrow Sea before his successful invasion of Kings' Landing, was praised for his focus and will above all else._

_His leadership, his strength; it gave him the highest seat of power with little more than the desire for it to be so._

_Rukia was well aware of his prowess, but she couldn't have known that it extended to other areas._

_She had heard, unintentionally, the gossip that was present in the courts, that the King had a love for great playwrights and literature overall._

_She had no mind to know if it was true until he had her arching off the bed with poetry between her thighs; ravishing and worshipping, and if the only thing Rukia would remember at the end of this was his name then that was all that mattered._

"E-excuse me?"

"I'm sure you're familiar with marriages of convenience," he carefully began, amber eyes glinting with something close to amusement. "Your allegiance for the might of the Seven Kingdoms, and my dragons?"

"You can have my allegiance without a marriage."

"But not my dragons," he said, "and if I remember the fairytales correctly, that's the only thing that will stop the Hollows."

She grimaced. "You have everything. The stronghold, the Seven Kingdoms; why would you want a marriage to me?"

"Isn't that the smart thing to do? A marriage to the only untouchable royal in my realm, a line to the only kingdom of the Seven that hasn't yet bowed to me?" Loftily, he added, "Besides, what's a queen without a king?"

She dryly remarked, "Statistically? Better."

"I have no doubt about that," he said with a smirk, looking strangely proud, "but I'm sure I can persuade you."

Rukia had ruled the North since she was sixteen when her brother, Byakuya, had left the sanctuary of their home to address the rumors of the Hollows, the fairytale monsters, at the Wall.

With his web of intelligence stretched across the Seven Kingdoms, Ichigo had heard the stories of how Byakuya had come back affected, that his sister had killed him out of mercy, to protect the rest of her people – and himself.

Almost five years later, she wore her brother's crown and ruled her brother's kingdom and answered to their calls of, "The Queen of the North" with a tinge of ash in the mouths.

He was familiar with that, titles people gave purely for the giving.

They mocked him as a boy, the King of the Rain.

His birth, the product of an unwise union between his father, the heir-apparent to the Seven Kingdoms and his mother, the princess of the only other kingdom besides the North that opposed them.

For almost nine years, the kingdoms had flourished, but it was not to be, an unexpected uprising killed them both. Fortunately, Ichigo was sent away to the safety to the North where the War for the Iron Throne didn't bother its nobility.

His was a tragedy, fated from even before his conception. His very existence ended his family's line, had his parents killed as a result.

The court of the North knew all about it, pitied him but disapproved his presence all the same.

They say it rained every day that he was there.

Until it didn't, until he met a girl and she asked him what happened: who he was, how he got there:

"They took my parents, they took my home. I don't have anything left, they took everything from me."

She considered him with all the sage wisdom of a nine-year-old, poked him with her finger and ordered, "Then take it back."

The journey to get there was decidedly harder than what she made it sound, but he never forgot her – and her violet eyes – and the crown of ice he had molded for her that day so many years before.

This girl, he recalled, was the Northern princess in the same way that he was the Southern prince, and on their journey to their destinies they had learned to rule with a sword and a broken heart, and with that he decided that she deserved to be the kind of queen people took pleasure bowing down for.

He'd ensure it.

After all, what good was being a king without a queen like her by his side?


End file.
